


there might not be a next time, though.

by tealatte



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26542654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealatte/pseuds/tealatte
Summary: Sulyvahn encounters the Ashen One again and again, and only this time decides to ask, "why?"(aka sulyvahn and the ashen one are stuck in a ng+/multiple ng files loop, but it isn't a fourth wall break.)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	there might not be a next time, though.

The hilt of the sword hits the marble floor with a loud resounding _clang_ , the steel blade following soon after signifying the battle won. But it was a battle seen by no one, privy to no one, and worth to no one.

The Ashen One straddles firmly over him. Their positions now switched; it is not he who towers over them, large and imposing. Their sword digs deep into his chest, spilling an inky-black substance, but undeniably blood, into a pool around him. Golden lights from tinted windows congregate at the center and illuminate mutilated bits of flesh laid haphazardly.

Their fingers remain curved around the handle, not letting go of the pressure to keep him in place. Unusual, and wasteful use of energy, Sulyvahn thinks — he was as good as dead.

He half-expected the knight to gloat over his corpse. A victory he begrudgingly admits was well earned for once. No more hiding cowardly behind a shield, or spitting flame from afar. They clearly had a plan of attack and stuck to it quite methodically: accurately predicting his flurry of attacks and timing their dodges such that he couldn’t lay a single strike; dispatching his summon with relative ease and continuing as if nothing happened; skillfully parrying him at the last second to thrust their sword with enough force to topple them both. It was more akin to a dance than a fight to the death.

Instead, the knight does not gloat and remains as quiet as their first encounter. Unusually, they linger. At this point they would have carried on their journey like the wind, sparing no thought to the fallen.

It’s this oddity, small as it is, that makes Sulyvahn realize he knows nothing of his mysterious assailant. Not of what drives them to the flame, nor even of their actual appearance. He only knows of their persistence, to come back again and again until he was forced to engrave their existence into his memory as the one pest he couldn’t exterminate. And yet, to notice such a discrepancy meant that he has become quite familiar with them.

And so for the first time, he asks with the curiosity of a sorcerer and not of the pontiff, “could you truly not envision a future of the Deep?

A delicate pause. With their face obscured by metal, it was impossible to discern their reaction. They could have simply humiliated him by never answering, leaving him to perish with the foolishness of even asking.

“No.” It’s relatively clear for a voice muffled inside a helm, but it’s an answer devoid of any emotion.

“Why desire to link the flame so gravely?”

“I do not,” they say immediately, with a hint of irritation to their voice.

Strange to voice out such a discontent answer. They were summoned to aid the first flame, were they not? The only logical conclusion he could come to was that they served for a different lord, but he had kept close ties on any possible factions that may have arisen in opposition to his and found very little. Even the faction closest to succeeding had already lost their lord, forcing them to start from scratch.

“Then what is it you chase?”

“It would be impossible to understand by the likes of you,” they sigh.

“But it’s as selfish as anyone else here. To put it simply, there are still things I need to do — I want to do, and why I will remain until so. I’ve already...” The Ashen One trails off, fading back to a silence they were both familiar with.

To speak freely as they have just now betrayed a subtle loneliness.

“Impossible?” He presses on, but the Ashen One has decided they spoke all they were willing to reveal. Sulyvahn, displeased, was only left with _more_ questions, and unintentionally made the Ashen One look more of an enigma than before.

As if to shut him up further, the Ashen One begins the all-too-familiar routine. The sword slides out from him slowly and back into the scabbard as is, staining the leather. Clutching onto his robes with one hand to steady themselves, they plunge their free hand into the gaping wound. In the silence, only the wet squelch of thick blood colliding with their hand as they rummage through his torn organs could be heard. It doesn’t hurt, so he does not vocalize his pain, but he could do nothing more than watch agonizingly.

It’s a morbid reminder of his own inferiority. The numerous opportunities he receives will always end in vain, stolen by this particular unkindled who seems to only grow greater in strength. Each time it happened felt as if he had returned to that cold village, indulging himself in decrepit books in a hollow pursuit of _something_ to fill in the void that no other corvians knew of.

The pontiff does not normally plead, and it vexes him greatly for the thought to have existed at all, but he swallows his pride just this once.

At this point… he simply wants to see his efforts bear fruit, lordship be damned.

“If flame is not what’s sought, then perhaps... consider allying with the Deep, and seize it for one’s own.”

The Ashen One stills, letting their head droop before launching into low, raspy laughter.

“Unbelievable… for Sulyvahn to…” they mumbled inaudibly.

Sulyvahn was not surprised at all by their response, but if he had any energy left in his arms he would throttle them, if only to punish the casual calling of his name. His anger soon fades as the Ashen One grips what they’ve been searching for. Unlike the Ashen One’s fishing through his wound, he feels a crushing pressure aching throughout his body, almost akin to being squeezed by the hand of a giant. They’ve done it so many times by now, yet he couldn’t help but groan. The pain was much more intense than any cuts or stabs.

It tries to reject their pull, clinging to a crevice deep inside him, but no avail. What is retrieved is a soul shaped like the flame, blindingly bright and untainted by blood. In one swift motion, they inject the soul into their chest, joining the vessel of many like it without complication. It was as if the soul never belonged to him in the first place.

It’s over.

Shadows start to trim the edges of his sight. Faint footsteps grow even fainter. The Ashen One was nowhere else to be seen. In his narrowing vision, he sees only the looming statues of the deity he deceived peering — sneering down at him.

A voice lingers in the wind. “Goodnight, Sulyvahn. Perhaps I shall consider your offer… if you do not forget.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if the tone is all over the place. i only really wanted to write the ashen one killing (clowning on) sulyvahn but well... it turned out like this. anyhow, thanks for reading!


End file.
